


5 Fantasies Murphy's Had About Warren

by sdwolfpup



Category: Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Spanking, Orgasm Delay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup
Summary: A couple of these fantasies are dark, but Murphy's gonna Murphy. If you want to skip those, they're #s 1 and 3.





	5 Fantasies Murphy's Had About Warren

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of these fantasies are dark, but Murphy's gonna Murphy. If you want to skip those, they're #s 1 and 3.

-1-

The first fantasy Murphy had about Warren was also the most embarrassing, but he'd never come harder in his life. It was a few weeks after Hammond died, when he knew his life was in her and Charlie's hands but he didn't at all know how trustworthy those hands could be. Sure they'd gone back for Addy, but they'd been more than willing to leave Cassandra behind until Addy demanded otherwise.

They kept Murphy on a short leash, constantly near one or both of them. Post-z-nado he'd lost all his hair, some teeth, and most of his dignity, and he felt more like a piece of shit than a human. Except, sometimes, he'd catch Warren looking at him and she'd smile sort of encouragingly, like maybe he was still a person, too. 

It was only a matter of time until his brain decided to do something with the entire confusing mess the only way he knew how to deal with any emotions. Snarking wasn't cutting it anymore. 

They were a couple days out of Warren's house, holed up in a rickety barn Charlie assured them would last the night. Murphy hid himself in one of the back horse stalls and while everyone else slept and Charlie and Warren whispered quietly by the fire, he unzipped his pants and pictured the three of them back at Warren's house. Murphy was naked on all fours on the floor of the living room and Charlie and Warren stood over him, fully clothed. 

“You sat in his chair again,” Warren hissed in his fantasy. “You know the punishment for that.”

Charlie spanked him, a loud crack that sent a shiver of pained heat through Murphy's body. 

“Say you're sorry,” Charlie ordered. 

“Fuck you,” Murphy snapped. 

Charlie slapped his ass again, harder, and another time hard enough to make Murphy bite back a whimper. 

“He's not gonna say it,” Charlie said. “You know him.”

“I know he's not even human. Put him on his back,” she said. 

Charlie moved swiftly, faster than Murphy could hope to resist, and flipped Murphy onto his back on the ragged carpet. Warren was naked then, and Charlie, too, like time had jumped. She straddled his face, and Murphy's eyes rolled back in his head as the smell of her overwhelmed him. His dick was rock hard, leaking already. She slapped him sharply on the cheek and he focused on her face. 

“Here's what you're gonna do,” she said in that matter-of-fact way she had. “You're gonna eat me out until I'm screaming, and Charlie is gonna fuck you while you do it. And once both of us are satisfied, then we might let you come.”

Murphy shuddered as Charlie's thick fingers, slick with lube, pressed against his asshole. He'd had sex with men before, knew what to expect, what to look forward to. Charlie pressed his finger inside, slower than Murphy deserved, and the gentleness of it almost undid him on the spot. Charlie withdrew his finger when Warren leaned down, her breasts nearly suffocating Murphy as she whispered, “if you come before we're done, you'll be punished. Understood?”

He nodded once, gritting his teeth as Charlie pushed his finger in again, rougher this time, but no less devastating to Murphy's self-control. Murphy dragged his focus to Warren and her already wet pussy riding his lips. He tasted her, the salty tang, sucked hard on her clit and was rewarded with a high-pitched gasp. 

“Good boy,” she breathed, her knees locking his shoulders down to the ground. His cock throbbed untouched and eager as Charlie pulled out his fingers and pressed the blunt head of his own cock against Murphy's ass. Murphy struggled for control, sucked and licked Warren's folds until her breathing was a sharp, anxious keening that sounded how Murphy felt as Charlie pushed his cock in unbearably slow. He felt Charlie's big hands on his hips, holding tight. Then on a loud exhale, Charlie slid all the way inside him. Murphy almost lost it then, but his fingers dug into the carpet, nails bending with the force as Charlie slid in and out, stretching him, burning, making his body shake. 

He needed them to finish soon or he'd fail and then they'd punish him more. Would it be more spanking? A belt this time? Would they do it here or in front of the others? It was that image that had his orgasm coming hard, ripping an inarticulate cry from his throat. 

“Murphy?” Charlie asked, but it was real Charlie and they were all back in the falling down barn. 

Murphy, panting, sweaty, hand covered in semen, waved his other arm above the stall wall. “I'm ok,” he gasped. “I'm ok. Bad dream.”

“Are you sure?” Warren asked. He heard her moving closer. “Sounded intense.”

“I'M FINE!” he yelled and it rebounded like thunder in the quiet barn. Warren stopped and when he shifted to peek over the wall, he saw her shrug and turn back. 

“Everything all right?” Doc's voice floated out of the dark. 

“Apparently,” Charlie said. “Go to sleep, Doc. Just a nighttime pest.”

Murphy wiped his hand on the ground and eventually got his breathing and and his trembling body under control. But he wasn't able to forget the feeling of Charlie's dick inside him and Warren's firm body over him enough to get any sleep at all.

-2-

Warren had smiled when he returned. He'd unzipped the body bag she'd been hiding in and she'd been so happy to see him. Relieved, sure, but happy, too. He imagined kissing her like she was Sleeping Beauty. He imagined climbing in the body bag with her. That night he imagined her so grateful she pushed him down onto the table she'd just abandoned, straddling him as it squeaked under their weight.

“What about the others?” he asked. He wondered if they could hear him in those body lockers.

“They'll keep,” she said, tugging his pants down. She stroked his cock in long, hard pulls, while her other hand snuck under his shirt and tugged almost painfully at his nipples. 

“What about you?” he asked, breathless, desperate. The body bag crinkled underneath him. 

“I'll keep, too,” she said, moving her hand faster. Her hand was strong and dry, but he'd been hard the moment she shoved him down and the friction made the heat pooling in him roar hotter, burn through and out of him faster as he jerked up against her thighs, coming all over her hand and his stomach. 

He'd startled out of the fantasy with an aching erection. He'd disappeared behind a shed to quietly take care of it while Warren and the others planned their next stop on the Murphy Delivery Tour.

-3-

One dark night at Murphytown, alone in his bed with the blends buzzing quiet in his head, he let himself imagine what it would be like if he ever managed to bite Warren. He'd have to strip her of her weapons, trap her using the advantage of his size to hold her down beneath him. He'd bite her at the top swell of her breast, near her heart as it pounded frantically under her skin.

She'd be pissed, of course, probably punch him in the stomach when he let her go. Until his spit worked its way into her blood, speared into her brain, and suddenly he would have her.

He hadn't been lying before when he'd told her he liked her the way she was. He wouldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to ( _except_ , he wondered, _what would it be like if I did?_ ). Murphy shook his head sharply. No. He wasn't like that. 

No, he'd just bring out what she was holding back. Hell, she'd probably like being bossed around for a change. 

In his bed, he stroked himself, imagined her standing before him, hand pressed to the bite on her breast. She'd be tense, taut, angry. And curious. 

“Warren.”

She'd lift her chin, glaring at him. “So you bit me. What do you want, Murphy?”

“What do _you_ want, Roberta?”

“You,” she'd say, and neither of them would know if it was his answer or hers. 

He was certain she had wondered what it might be like between them. Now he'd release her from her own bindings and they would see. 

“Come here,” he'd say, and he'd head to his bedroom, urging her until she followed him. “Sit down.” She'd sit on the bed slowly, fighting his mental pressure at first, but he knew he would win and so did she, so eventually she'd sit like she meant it all along. God he loved that about her. 

He'd step closer until he could feel her heat and she'd press her hand against his cock stiffening in his tailored pants. He groaned in bed as he pictured it, the light in her eyes as she struggled with whether this was his doing or her own, the way her lips would part unconsciously as she squeezed him. 

“Take off your clothes,” he'd say, and she'd resist because it was too easy to give in right away. She'd fight him because she fought everything. He'd feel her need for the struggle, and so he'd press her through their connection. 

She'd stand, glaring at him while she stripped, except he'd feel the freedom in her once she was naked. He'd undo his pants enough to loose his cock, and she'd look at it like it was the only thing in the world she needed. 

In bed, Murphy moaned when the Warren in his fantasy knelt down at his feet and took him in her mouth. She'd be so good at sucking him off, and they'd watch each other the entire time, her lips plump and pretty against his blue and white skin. He'd see both the anger and the desire at war in her eyes, feel her emotions surging through him. His hand moved faster as in his fantasy he held Warren's head with his hands and fucked her pretty mouth. 

Her hands would grip his thighs, bringing him closer, not trying to push away. But she'd scrape his cock with her teeth, too, sharp lines scored in the battle they were fighting in her head. He'd feel her moaning around him, a vibrating hum that buzzed through his whole body. Her need for him – and her fury that she did - crackled through his veins and back in bed he cried out quietly as he came hot and hard, alone. 

Murphy lay there for a minute, breathing heavily. Tomorrow he'd redouble the search for her. He didn't need to have bitten her to know she was nearby. And then they could find out how much of that was just a fantasy.

-4-

Not every fantasy Murphy had about Warren was about sex. Once he'd imagined them in some pre- or maybe post-apocalypse space, sitting together on a soft, overstuffed couch watching TV. She was snuggled against him, his arm draped loose along her side. They'd been watching some romantic-comedy she loved, and she was nearly asleep against him, her bare feet tucked up underneath her. He kissed the top of her head and she curled her hand against his chest.

He stretched for the remote control and turned the TV off. 

“I was watching that, Alvin,” she murmured. 

“The only thing you're watching is the inside of your eyelids,” he said. “Want me to help you to bed?”

“Let's just stay here,” she said, burrowing further against his side. He stroked her hair, her arm, until her breathing slowed again, and he watched her sleep in the quiet dark, and didn't worry about anything at all. 

It had taken him days to shake that one off, to escape the ghostly, dangerous lure of everything it promised that he would never have. He never let himself go back to it again.

-5-

But usually, his fantasy went like this:

They'd gotten separated from the group (the people with them didn't matter: Mac or Doc or Cassandra or Addy or the crew from Sesame Street) but they were safe now, chests heaving, alone in the warm afternoon sun. Everything was too sharp, the tree leaves unnaturally bright. Warren looked at him, her brown eyes blazing with adrenaline.

“You ok?”

He nodded. “You?”

“Yeah. The others?”

“Escaped in the truck. Said we'd meet up at last night's camp.”

“Good.” She wiped her bloody machete on pants so ripped he could see the flex of her muscled thighs through them and her shirt hung in a tatter that barely covered her round breasts. She stared defiantly at him. “What're you looking at?”

Instead of cowering or looking away like he would in real life, he stood his ground. “You.”

“See something you like?”

He stepped towards her, claiming the space, and skimmed his fingers up her arms. She shivered.

“Quit it.”

“Make me.”

She kicked his legs out from under him and he slammed onto his back on the hard ground. Before he could get his breath back, she straddled him and ripped the rest of her shirt off, exposing a white cotton bra underneath that looked shockingly sexy on her. There was bright red blood on one of the straps. 

“You should ask before you touch,” she said. “Didn't your mama teach you any manners?”

“Can I touch you?” he whispered.

In answer, she undid her bra and brought her full breasts to his face. Trembling – he always was at this point, even in his own fantasy, even his real hand on his own dick – he took her breasts and kneaded them, warm and wonderful in his dirty hands. 

He licked the nipples, gently at first, then harder sucks that drove Warren to gasps and moans. He sat up, his lap full with her strong body, and kissed her neck, biting at the corded muscle there. 

He never kissed her lips. 

Instead he rolled them both over so she was under him and she escaped the last of her ruined clothes while he tugged off his pants. 

The sex was frenzied, desperate. He tried to touch every last inch of her smooth skin; she barely gave him time to get his pants all the way off before she was pulling him closer, driving him hard and fast. She was grasping and demanding beneath him, never letting him slow. He gave up trying to lead and instead followed her, as he always did. Even in his fantasies, she was his guiding light. 

Her heels dug into his back pushing him deeper, and he lost himself in her wet heat, the slap of their bodies, the sweaty slide of their thighs. She gripped his ass and squeezed and he felt the heat gathering between them like the sunlight beating down on his bare back. 

“Fuck, Warren,” he panted. She never said his name. He bent his head down to tug at her nipples with his mouth, sucking and pulling until she was writhing under him, her hand clawing at his chest, her fingers pressing hard against his zombie bites. He sucked harder, pounded faster, until she went tight beneath him and her cries led him to the edge himself, the world going vibrant white and he came so hard he was shaking. 

Then he would wake, or remember where he was, and the world would go back to being hard-edged and dull-colored while he followed her all over the country and dreamed of the day he could make one of his fantasies a reality.


End file.
